Miranda was gorgeous and remote, some beautiful idol best observed from afar. She was a strange woman in the sense that she frowned upon fraternization, but never shied away from talking with Shepard or Jacob. Her double standards bugged quite a few people upon the Normandy, and they lamented about why they simply could not have someone like Garrus as their second-in-command. Now there was a man anyone could talk to, someone anyone could easily like—adore. The Ice Queen was too detached, too distant for their liking.
But that was not the case at all. They just didn't get it.
She was … selective with whom she spent her time with. To her, every second counted and she'd be damned if she spent it with someone she thought vapid. Or so Joker was under the impression.
This was why he thought he had quite the secret, hidden discreetly during the night cycle of the Normandy. It had become almost a ritual of sorts: Joker would let EDI pilot the Normandy as he headed off to catch some rest, and as he passed through the Mess Hall he'd find her sitting there. Always in the upper left, right beside the Med-Bay window where the dim light framed her.
During those fleeting moments, Miranda always seemed so deep and lost in thought that Joker felt guilty for disturbing her, even if he was only walking past. But the faintest of smiles would grace her face and tease him, drag him under her spell when she caught him in the corner of her eye. It was hard to ignore such a woman; it was as if her very presence demanded attention.
"Operative Lawson," he would say, nodding his head slightly.
"Moreau," she would offer back.
Their nightly exchange went on for almost a week. And then one evening she spoke more than just his name in passing.
"I would like to apologize." She said stiffly, so unused to such an act. "For what I said to you when the crew was abducted."
Joker stopped, turned on his heel as best as he could. (His knee had been bothering him lately, ever since he hit it off the arm of his pilot's chair a couple nights ago.)
Miranda's eyes remained trained on the plain white table, her hands a delicate steeple. "I am sure I couldn't have done any better. You did what you could and that is all we can ask of you." She muttered into the darkness.
And he stared.
Surely this was a dream and he was lying about the cockpit, rendered unconscious. Joker cleared his throat, unsure of what to say in return, or even if he should say anything in kind. He didn't know. Maybe these things were best left as they were.
Yet his mouth formed words even if his mind told it not to.
"Unlike me, you don't have Vrolik Syndrome to stop you." he replied, rubbing at the back of his sore neck. "You could do more than just break your arm at them. Hell, maybe you could even hold an assault rifle without breaking a rib or two while you're at it."
The woman snorted in derision, and she shook her head.
"Considering the circumstances, saving the crew while the Normandy was going under was not as viable as I was wont to believe. So for that, you have my apologies." She said, her head titled to the left ever so slightly. Her pale blue eyes seized him up, leaving Joker feeling bare.
A full thirty seconds passed before Joker spoke again. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the thought of Miranda apologizing.
"Right. Thank you." Idly, he drummed his fingers on the table, eyes thrown skyward. Looking Miranda in the eye made him feel uncomfortable, for reasons unknown.
He turned around again, only to stop himself. A nagging question ate away at his mind, and he knew he'd have to ask it now or never.
"Unless this is against some sort of regs I don't know about, could I ask you a question?"
"Certainly." Miranda said, looking at him expectantly. "What can I do for you, Moreau?"
"What are you doing? I mean, you're just… sitting there. In the dark. Doing nothing. No offense, but it's sorta kinda creepy." He didn't know many people who sat around in dimly lit places—well, at least ones who weren't borderline psychopaths and preferred to sleep on a cot in the bottom of a ship.
For a moment, Miranda hesitated. In the poor lighting, Joker could have sworn he saw her face flush. She cleared her throat, refusing to meet his eyes then.
"I suppose that is a valid question," She said, voice even.
"You've got an office, right?" He pressed.
"Yes."
"Then why-?" Joker stopped himself mid-sentence. "I don't know, call me crazy, but if I had an office I think I'd be sitting there, not out here and in the dark. But that's just my opinion, don't go spreading it around."
The statement gave Miranda pause, but it did not stop the coy smile that grew on her face.
"We wouldn't be having this conversation right now, would we?" One of her eyebrows rose in question.
"I'll give you that much."
Then Joker bade her goodnight, and headed for the cyro sleeping pods, exhaustion lapping at the edges of his consciousness. Miranda's accented voice followed after him.
"See you tomorrow, Moreau?"
A smile of Joker's own tugged at his lips.
"See you tomorrow, Operative Lawson." He called back.
